Everything Really Does Happen in Manhattan
by Amory Vain
Summary: Kick-Ass/Red Mist - Written for the marvel kickass@LJ kink meme prompt "sex pollen." Takes place in some sort of weird, pre-betrayal AU where the adventures included stopping scary scientists with basement laboratories, I guess. Dubious consent.


**Everything (Really Does Happen in Manhattan) [[1674 Words]]**  
_Kick-Ass_  
Kick-Ass/Red Mist  
Explicit sex, biting, dubious consent (sex pollen). Tentatively movie!verse.  
Written for the **marvel_kickass** kink meme prompt _sex pollen_. Takes place in some sort of weird, pre-betrayal AU where the adventures included stopping evil scientists, I guess.  
Much love to **pellnell** and **deathscytheheck** - thanks for cheerleading and slapping me around till I finished this.

Whatever their anonymous tipster had said, this was _not_ a meth lab. The setup in the basement is all wrong: beakers and bubbling test tubes and expensive looking equipment with altogether too many knobs and gauges to belong to anyone mixing amphetamines out of drug store cold meds. That, and the finished product lining the back wall's shelving is more blue syrup than white powder - if that stuff is meth, he's been going to the wrong parties (which wouldn't be all that surprising, actually, considering his social status).

Either way, there's no way this is legal, so it's got to go. Red Mist, costume tinted purple in the reflected light, uncorks one vial, knocking a few others to shatter on the ground as he unceremoniously tips its contents out into the nearby sink. Dave follows his lead, laughter bubbling up as he sweeps an arm across one shelf. Glass crunches under his boots as he pulls the caps off a pair of bottles and dumps viscous dark fluid down the drain.

In hindsight, it probably would've been a good idea to think about what they were handling and _how_ before they started spreading it around the room. As is, Dave doesn't realize anything's wrong until Red Mist makes a noise behind him, choked-off and startled. Until he turns and sees his partner swiping at a smear on his cheek, another glob dripping thickly down his throat to pool above his collar. The gel comes off on his suit but his face is stained blue, a bright patch of unnatural color that he pulls off one glove to touch with bare fingers. "Dude, it _tingles_."

And Dave is not prepared to see him push his palm to his mouth and _taste_ it. "Woah, Red Mist - "

"It's _good_." He sounds surprised, startled frown and now his lips are blue, too. No, this is _not good_, Dave thinks, this is some kind of illegal - something, possibly hallucinogenic, and he needs to get the other boy out of there before he starts tweaking. This is not what they signed up for; this was supposed to be a night of driving around in the Mist Mobile with the stereo cranked too loud and maybe punching a couple of people and trashing a meth lab, not -

"Oh, shit." His wrist is burning, he realizes, looks down at his syrup-covered hands and the broken seal between his left sleeve and glove, rips it off to see the congealing blue ring around his arm. "This is bad."

But actually, he finds himself thinking, it might really be sort of okay. It's interesting, the sparking ache of his skin where it's dyed and he touches it, inadvertently smears that sensation up to his elbow. He frowns back to where Red Mist is shucking his gloves and cape like they're the most useless things he's ever encountered (which yeah, it's a _cape_, Marty and Todd would die laughing at that impracticality) and asks "Are you feeling this, too?"

"Feeling what?" Like - well, it's impossible to explain, easier to close the distance between them and watch the other boy freeze in place as he drags his palm up the slickness on his throat. What starts as a demonstration ends with Red Mist's head tipping back and eyelashes fluttering in a way that's just _fascinating_ to watch and when Dave removes his hand, leaves it hovering a few inches from his skin, he has to fight the almost magnetic pull of that heat where his handprint's pressed blue against his jaw.

"Like that," he manages to gasp, before Red Mist kisses him.

Or _bites_ him, rather, their noses bumping painfully as Red Mist yanks him down to his level and closes teeth around his lower lip. Dave doesn't mind, somehow, licks at the spreading taste of copper and at Red Mist's teeth till the kiss is more conventional, more open-mouthed messy and _almost_ enough to satisfy the ache starting to hum low and insistent through his core. It's awkward through his mask so he tugs it off and tosses it somewhere behind - he doesn't have time to see or care where it's landed before Red Mist has hands fisted in his hair, blunt nails digging crescents into his scalp as he pulls him back in and reconnects their mouths.

It's good, it's right, but it's still not _enough_, and Dave presses forward, walks the other boy back until he hits the shelved wall with a loud _thud_ that has bottles clanking together and falling to the floor around them. Their teeth clack together at the impact and Red Mist pulls back, panting something that might be _Kick-Ass, Kick-Ass, Kick-Ass_against the broken corner of his mouth, nails catching on the back of his neck as Dave lifts and pushes him back to an awkward half-sit on a low shelf. He's starting to realize what he needs now, aborted curse caught in the back of his throat as he knocks the other boy's knees apart and steps in closer, hunting for the catch to that giant "M" belt.

Red Mist bucks up at the touch, erection heavy against his palm even through those ridiculous faux-leather leggings. "Fuck, yeah, just fucking – " Dave isn't sure which of them is talking, babbled litany of encouragements as he works open the belt and goes for his fly and Red Mist pushes palms over his suit in search of a zipper. He finds it and jerks it down, bunches Dave's costume around his waist and helps him get one arm free, leaning in to suck hickeys down his bicep as he peels back fabric and that's – disturbingly erotic, but not enough to stop him from tugging his arm away and returning to the urgent task of working Red Mist's pants down his thighs, of shoving his shirt up to bare a milky pale, smooth stomach (and that settles the six-pack debate, though this might not be admissible evidence back at Atomic tomorrow).

Then _finally_ he gets a hand down between their bodies to fist their cocks and that's great, that's so good he tears up, eyes stinging as he muffles a yell in impossibly-spiked hair. Red Mist buries his face against Dave's jaw and whines, tonguing hard at his pulse and then biting down and it _hurts_ but it might be the only thing keeping him conscious as he thrusts mindlessly against the other boy. His fingers find the back of the other boy's neck and curl there in what's taken as encouragement; Red Mist growls and licks a stripe to his Adam's apple.

Pain flares each time he clenches teeth over Dave's skin, sucks like he hopes he's drawn blood, like by sheer determination his blunt force will yield anything but another small bruise. Dave just goes with it, tangles a hand in his hair and laughs breathlessly at the feeling of such obsessive attention, all the while rocking into the spread of the other boy's thighs like he'll die if he stops. Red Mist comes first, though, whether from the helpless way he's rutting against Kick-Ass' stomach or because he's finally managed to break the skin of his shoulder with his teeth, Dave won't know – but the muffled yell and wet spray against him is enough to pull him over, too, partner clutched tight till his shuddering and Dave's own are indistinguishable.

It's incredible, bliss so total he can't even _move_ for several minutes. It takes a few weak shoves of someone else's hands against his chest for him to even remember where he is, and he scrambles back at the realization as though burned. "Shit!"

He yanks his costume back together, zipper catching a few times before he manages to get it up properly and turns to hunt for his mask. He finds it, stretched out and stained blue-black, in a heap on the floor and pulls it on anyway, turning back to see Red Mist stepping gingerly to the floor. He is a _wreck_, Dave decides guiltily, noting the raw redness of friction burns on the insides of his legs, the stark blue smear of handprints (_Dave's_ handprints) across his skin. His mouth is a swollen mess, and even his mask hangs crooked, still attached by just one corner – he looks up and catches him staring and Dave spins, quickly, mumbling an apology. He's pretty sore himself, he realizes, taking inventory of the mass of bruises as he tries not to listen to Red Mist getting dressed behind him.

He clears his throat when it sounds like it's safe to look, glad of his full-face mask as he turns back to the other boy. Red Mist is resolutely looking at anything except him, but Kick-Ass breaks the silence anyway, summoning his best _no, our dicks were not just touching_ voice. "We should, uh – "

"How about we just get the fuck out of here and forget this ever happened?" Red Mist's tongue is blue when he opens his mouth to speak, lips exactly the shape of the marks that throb dully under the press of Dave's suit as he shifts to take in the laboratory around them. "But what about this place?"

"What about it?" He's trying his hardest not to limp as he moves to the doorway, quick in his obvious desire to be anywhere but alone in this room with Kick-Ass. "We'll call the cops or something, let _them_ deal with the fucking – " He chokes on the weight of that phrase, fingers shaking as he fishes the Mist Mobile keychain from his belt. "_Whatever_."

"Yeah, okay." Dave considers the consequences of reaching to help him up the stairs and shudders, remembering the feel of Red Mist's skin, firm line of his hip under his palm. He stores that shock of bile at the back of his throat away for later, when he'll be alone with the shower running as hot as it will go, blue dye swirling down the drain with the contents of his stomach. "Whatever."


End file.
